


easy like sunday morning

by TigerMoon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff and Smut, Happy Sex, M/M, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Playful Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Equality, Topping from the Bottom, zine: Cloqwork Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22553074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerMoon/pseuds/TigerMoon
Summary: There will be days of hardship. Of peril. Of hurt, and fear.But not today. For this is Sunday morning, and happiness lies curled in his arms.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Ozpin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 95





	easy like sunday morning

**Author's Note:**

> This was my entry into the Cloqwork fanzine! And yes, it is raunchy PWP porn sandwiched in between layers of domestic fluff. This is the happiest goddamn thing I've ever written and it was a _blast_.

Sunday morning eases its way into existence carefully, carefully, a gentle spill of sunlight pooling warmth into the cozy bedroom high atop Beacon’s clocktower. Not enough to be harsh; the gauzy curtains diffuse any attempt at that. Just long streaks of golden light cast over discarded clothing, rumpled emerald sheets, a loose assortment of limbs tangled together in easy slumber.

The taller assortment shifts and coheres into a pale figure, twisted on his side with his head tucked under his partner’s chin, arm tossed over his hips and legs still helplessly entwined with Qrow’s. Ozpin’s always reluctant to wake on Sundays; those mornings are his and his alone, to share if he chooses or to hoard away in the sleep he so rarely gets. Time with Qrow, whether spent in sleep or, as the state of his bedroom suggests, in more vigorous activities, is always hoarded with jealousy fit more for a dragon than a man.

But the morning has had its say, and he is—barely—awake.

Shifting, not even opening his eyes, Ozpin lazily drags his lips against the hollow of Qrow’s throat. His hands skim lightly over the jut of his hip, the barest movement, just to feel his warmth. A mission in the east had gone sideways, and while it was still successful, there had been a tense few days when—well. Qrow was fully recovered now, and had proven it _very_ vigorously last night. He’s sore, but in all the right places, just enough to remind him of how he got that way.

Mutual problems every man must deal with in the mornings suddenly brush against stomach and thigh when Qrow shifts against him and the maudlin thoughts drift away at that glorious feeling.

A yawn echoes beside him, the hands around him tightening. “Tryin’ t’ wake me up, Oz?” Qrow rumbles, amusement clear through the drowsiness.

“Maybe,” he drawls, sighing a laugh against his skin.

“S’posed to wake me with a kiss.” And Qrow’s already tilting his chin down, pale pink eyes half-awake beneath black lashes. “Or ’s the mornin’ breath that bad?”

As if that would ever stop him. The rustle of sheets, and Ozpin’s parting his lips to meet him, the slide of tongue to tongue. It’s lazy, at first, alternating chaste little kisses with open mouths and clashing teeth, sour and dry giving way to sweet. Qrow’s tongue licks against his lips, Ozpin teasing him back with gentle nips until their mouths are wet and they’re both huffing soft little laughs under their breath. “Is that sufficient to wake Prince Charming?”

Qrow, damn him, nuzzles up into the underside of Ozpin’s throat to suck scarlet marks into the ivory skin. Calloused fingers press against his lips and he obediently takes them in, sucking at the digits and letting his tongue curl against the undersides. “Nope.”

Well. Two can play at that game. Humming, Ozpin reluctantly pushes himself back. Qrow glares at him, making grabby hands against his ass. “Perhaps it’s not a kiss against the _lips_ I should be trying.”

Qrow’s eyes are bright as Ozpin braces himself on his hands to hover over him. He stretches his neck and back and limbs like a spoiled cat, the sheets falling back to leave them nude in the rising sun. At a gentle nudge Qrow rolls over onto his back with toned legs akimbo as Ozpin slides down the length of him to kneel between his knees. He can see himself in the mirror, if he looks out the corner of his eye; lean and pale and scarred, with the marks of Qrow’s mouth in purpled circles on his shoulders, along the insides of his thighs, the fingertip bruises Qrow left along the underside of his hips and the curve of his buttocks. Qrow has similar marks upon him—bruises sucked along his collarbone, long bloody scratches along his biceps and many more, he knows, dug down the length of his back.

It’s wantonly filthy, wonderful, and Ozpin parts his thighs enough to let Qrow see all of him—the marks, the skin, the root of his arousal flushed and pink and straining against a backdrop of fine silver curls.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Qrow breathes, and licks his lips.

“As you wish.”

It actually is a kiss at first, lips barely parted to press against the velvety head of his cock, before his tongue darts out to trace a slow spiral around and down. Qrow swears to every god known to man when his lips come together against the skin along the shaft, sucking and tugging. Long fingers cup the underside of his balls, weighing them in his hand. “I love the way you taste,” he murmurs. He’s all musk and the sting of salt—clean, delicious. Ozpin noses the underside and the dark curls where the musk is strongest before licking his way back up, amber eyes boring into pale red.

Qrow swallows, hard.

When Ozpin parts his lips and takes him in, inch by inch, Qrow buries his hands in tangled silver hair and pulls, sobbing Ozpin’s name.

He’s hot, heavy, his jaw aching from the night before as it stretches to accommodate; his tongue curls around him, drags up and down, suckles. But he tastes divine, precome salty and hot and welling up as fast as he can lick it away, and on the third lick—

“Wait!”

—Qrow jerks his hair, pulls him off his dick, and Ozpin has to let his jaw drop to not risk scraping him with his teeth.

But he’s smiling, even as he’s laid back and panting. “I said ‘fuck’, Oz, not ‘suck’,” Qrow laughs.

Ozpin chuckles. Qrow braces himself up on his elbows and when he pulls him forward for a kiss he doesn’t resist, letting Qrow taste himself on his tongue. “You’re the one who wanted to be woken with a kiss,” he reminds him.

“Changed my mind,” he murmurs against his lips. His thumb—still faintly sticky with saliva—slides down and flicks the nail hard against a dusky pink nipple. Ozpin shivers; he’s terribly sensitive there and Qrow knows it and loves to exploit it at every opportunity. “Maybe fairytales ain’t the way to go. Maybe I wanna fuck my way awake.”

His hand curls over Ozpin’s cock and gives it a rough pump, the other sliding down to grab his ass. “Know anyone who could help me with that?”

Ozpin tackles him backwards into the bed; they bounce once, laughing, kissing, hands groping and bodies sliding against each other. “I think I might know a guy,” he chuckles, rolling his hips down into Qrow’s. “He might have an opening next week—”

Qrow growls and ducks his head down, mouth latching onto a nipple and sucking hard—oh _gods_ , he can’t stand just how _good_ it is, the sting of teeth and soothe of tongue—until Ozpin cries out and bucks against him. “Ass,” he snaps, but the heat behind the words isn’t from anger.

“Your ass, I hope.” Qrow licks his lips again, throwing an arm behind his head and lazily stroking himself as Ozpin shuffles through the sheets. The lube fell off the bed at some point during the night; he flicks the cap off with a practiced gesture and squirts an overgenerous portion directly onto Qrow’s dick. Laughing, he strokes it on, then curves his fingers forward. “C’mere and let me give you a hand.”

“No need. If last night wasn’t enough to fuck me open then you need— _Qrow!_ ” Because Qrow twists beneath him, grabs his wrist, and flips them so that Ozpin’s the one now pinned to the sheets. He struggles once, but Qrow is insistent with that wicked toothy grin. Like he’s won some kind of battle.

Ozpin meets the smirk with one of his own as he arches back into the bed. Shamelessly throwing his legs open wider, he hooks Qrow around the waist with one ankle and grabs Qrow’s lube-slick hand in his own. “I thought you were going to help me out,” he chides, and guides that hand to his cock and lower still.

“Fucking minx.” The burn of two slick fingers suddenly pressing in pulls a sharp cry from his throat. He’s relaxed enough for this, yes, but without forewarning the initial press still hurts. That Qrow is practiced at this helps, though; he can and has fucked him to completion before, with just his fingers inside him and—oh, _oh_ , his tongue presses up against his other nipple and another inward press of cold lube and his toes are curling, gods.

“On the other hand,” Qrow murmurs against his chest, and Ozpin trembles, desperate to kiss the smirk away before he has to listen to his smug stupid voice. The fingers withdraw, sliding down and pressing his legs apart, catching him at the hip. “They say the gods help those that help themselves—“

Ozpin scowls, parts his lips to retort—and he _can’t_ , it’s too much, Qrow suddenly rocking forward and working him open with teasing thrusts of his cock. Little gasps and cries escape him with each movement. It burns, his overabused hips and insides screaming at the intrusion, but ohgods that is _nothing_ compared to the pleasure of being stretched and filled. His eyes flutter shut—“ _Breathe_ , Oz”—as Qrow sinks fully in, the heat and hardness a terrible, wonderful ache deep within him. That calloused hand tightens around his cock, loosens, strokes once as he settles.

“You alright?”

Ozpin breathes out, shuddering. “ _Qrow_.”

He chuckles breathlessly. “Yeah?”

“Shut up and _fuck me._ ”

_Please_ isn’t said, _please_ isn’t needed; Qrow rocks forward when Ozpin curls his hands around his shoulders, drags his way out slowly just to slam back in. Long legs wrap around his waist, lock him in, hips thrusting up in rhythm. Ozpin drags Qrow’s head down by the hair and their mouths collide, a clash of teeth and tongue and panting breath.

This must be heaven, he thinks as Qrow’s fingers drag down rough on his cock. There’s nothing else, just warm sunlight and heated skin and the sting of sweat in his eyes. Filled to bursting, every thrust up pressing against something within that makes Ozpin cry out brokenly into his mouth. He thrusts up to meet him, driving Qrow deeper within, and doesn’t miss how he curses raggedly when they grind together. Qrow’s hand flexes around him and he adds his own, urging him to stroke harder, harder, heat keeps pooling within and spreading through him and he’s thrusting harder, faster, Qrow’s cock so heavy and stretching, deeper, _harder_ , dear gods _please_ — _Qrow_ —

Qrow’s name chokes him when he comes, his vision filled with stars as he spills over their joined hands. Distantly, through the haze, he feels the thrusts stutter, his grip painful, and then Qrow groans his name and he’s coming too, hot and pulsing within, his head dropping against Ozpin’s shoulder before he slumps atop him, boneless.

Sunlight spills back around them, warm and gentle. Ozpin cards his clean fingers through Qrow’s hair as they let their breathing slow back to normal. “Are you awake now, Prince Charming?” he asks softly.

Humming into his chest, Qrow tilts his head up. This time when they kiss the gesture is just that, gentle tastes of lips with no other meaning. “Mmm… nope,” he says, and gently pulls out to roll over and curl against his side. His hands run down the mess of his stomach, thumb petting circles over his lower belly. His breath is warm and humid against the side of his throat. “Think you put me under a spell, Oz.”

Ozpin tries to stifle a yawn and fails. He can see Qrow’s face in the mirror across the room, those sleepy red eyes watching him. “Did I?”

“Not even a fair one.” His eyes slip closed, that strong arm pulling him closer. “Makin’ me fall in love like that.”

Ozpin sighs, the sound all fondness, and lets himself drift back off. “… I love you too, Qrow.”

Later on he’ll care about the come between his thighs or over his stomach, the stained sheets and mess of his bedroom. Later on there will be hardship and peril, harsh words and harsher days.

Later, though, is not right now. Right now it is Sunday morning, and this moment—this happiness—is still his to hoard away.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought, and check out cloqwork-fanzine on tumblr for links to the other participants! We had so much amazing talent!


End file.
